


Nails on a Chalkboard

by ijemanja



Category: The Pretender
Genre: Choking, Derogatory Language, Dubious Consent, F/F, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-19
Updated: 2007-02-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn battle ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nails on a Chalkboard

Really, the very best use for fingernails, Brigitte thinks, is always going to be cutting off the circulation to some uptight bitch's clitoris. There are clamps that will do the job just as well, of course, but Brigitte has always been a hands-on kind of girl.

And even better than that look they get when Brigitte twists hard as she can? What's better is when she lets go, the rush of blood, the throbbing, not even Little Miss Ice Princess herself can stop herself from making any noise. And what a delightful noise it is, Brigitte shifts her hips just hearing it, that low throaty moan.

One flick of her fingers right now and Miss Parker would come apart at the seams - not hard for someone packed in as tight as she is. The uptight bitches never stay uptight for long, they all have their weaknesses.

"Tell me where my father is," Miss Parker bites out.

Even backed up against a wall in this shady little corner of the Center's lower levels, with her skirt up under her breasts and Brigitte's hand hovering over her very wet pussy, she thinks she's the one giving the orders.

"All in good time, dear. Just let Mummy take care of everything."

She does enjoy that particular brand of hatred the 'M' word always inspires, and just as Parker looks close to reaching up and strangling her, Brigitte slams the heel of her hand into that aching clit, grinds down, with her forearm pressed across Parker's stomach hard enough to bruise, hard enough to drive the wind out of her so when she comes it's gasping and choking and clawing at the walls.

Another good use for fingernails, Brigitte reflects, applying just a bit more pressure - as long as they're not hers.

Of course, Miss Parker being Miss Parker, she comes up fighting, and that's one thing Brigitte's never been able to fault her for. She does like the woman's spunk, even when she shoves Brigitte away and a spike-heeled boot lands in her mid-section.

Parker follows her down when she lands on her back, knee planted on her stomach, hands pinning her shoulders.

"That's what I like about you, love, always up for a bit of rough and tumble," she gasps, and lifts her head to look at her handy-work, Parker's glistening pussy still on display.

Parker doesn't move to pull down her skirt, just sneers as she leans over Brigitte till they're face to face and: "Where. Is. He."

"Well now, that's for me to know, and you to -"

Her head snaps against the floor as Parker backhands her. Then the weight on her diaphragm is gone, she can breathe properly again - until a hand closes around her throat. Parker holds her in place like that, straddling her as her free hand works to undo Brigitte's pants.

The leather is tight and the pressure on her trachea varies as the woman above her struggles to get at her crotch. Her laughter just makes Parker hold on tighter. Between the slap and the choking Brigitte is starting to lose the edges of her vision. Another slap rouses her, enough that when the hand returns to her throat she brings her own hands up to close around Parker's arm, pressing nails into flesh as fingers press inside her.

"Tell me."

She squeezes the bones of Miss Parker's wrist, tight as she can. She gets another finger in retaliation. She's holding out for the thumb. It's a narrow fit down there, with the pants still encasing her thighs, just barely enough room between the leather and her body. She pictures Miss Parker's whole fist jammed up inside her and says, "Did you ever think wherever daddy is, he might not want to be found?"

"Save your breath, bitch." Fingers close on her throat, fingers twist deep inside her.

She thinks of Parker's long fingernails scraping away at her, thinks of that hand emerging dripping blood. She smiles sweetly up at her step-daughter. It reforms around a gasp as Parker shoves. Hard.

And she talks. One word for every thrust and pull. Parker works her way back inside and drags the information out of her, syllable by syllable, till she chokes out the last of it, shuddering in climax.

"Nice doing business with you, Bridget," Miss Parker says. She wrenches her hand from Brigitte's pussy, her arm from Brigitte's grasp and climbs off her.

Brigitte brings her hands up in front of her eyes. There's blood under her nails.


End file.
